Oh. I take it back.

Ikke bestått.

There it stood. Black and white. Two weeks earlier than I expected.

I had just logged on to the Bergenstest's website to check on the exact date I could get the test results for the two language tests, but it was there. Already.

I didn't pass.

Somewhat ironic, considering just hours before I had posted May 14th's blog post "Hoping it's the last one. . . ", an almost cocky report of how easy the test was. I had specifically written it for any student out there, nervously awaiting November's oral Bergenstest, feeling they were unprepared, not knowing what to expect. "Don't worry! It was easy!"

That's a big part of my shock, quite frankly. How could I be so off-base? How could I have misjudged my performance so wrong? Am I really that bad when I speak Norwegian? I was stunned.

One of my first instincts was to go back and remove that blog and erase my Facebook link to the blog, mostly to spare myself the embarrassment of being so convinced I was going to pass (remember this: "they didn't even test me with the 4th graph test!!") to now having to announce I didn't pass. But. . . welcome to my roller-coaster life. One more high followed by one more slamming low against the valley floor. Now to wait til May 28th for the next up or down. The written test results.

*Hoping* it's all done: no more Bergenstest

Saturday morning I spent about $85 to take a two and a half hour train (actually bus) ride to Oslo, then another $150 to have a 10-minute conversation with a teacher who would then judge if my Norwegian was good enough, or not good enough, to work in the health care field in Norway.

That about sums it up.

I took the written skriftlig Bergenstest about 3 weeks ago now, the test that allows a non-native Norwegian speaker to gain admittance into a Norwegian university. I need it to take a course that will allow me to work as a nurse in Norway. These are brand-spanking new regulations as of last November, if anyone out there is saying "uh-uh. . . I didn't have to do that. . ." To those of you who are  very nervous about the oral Bergenstest: I write this for you.


The written test was challenging, mostly because it is divided into 5 sections of reading, writing, listening and comprehension and you must pass all five parts. Because the oral muntlig Bergenstest is mostly for foreigners who wish to work in the health care field, there aren't a lot of us out there taking this test (hence the 2.5 hour train ride to Oslo). In fact, when I asked my teacher--my teacher in the Bergenstest preparation class--what she knew about the oral test, she had to look it up on the internet, because it's been several years since she had just one student take it. Our class has been very much in the mode of Teach To The Test, but just the written test--no focus on the oral at all.

To say I felt unprepared is an understatement. But to be perfectly honest, I really didn't give it much thought. In fact, it wasn't until I was walking up the stairs in the building of the test site that I began to feel a little bit nervous. My teacher told me to just relax and remind myself it's just a simple converation. A German friend reminded me to speak slowly, telling me that we-foreign-speakers try to speak Norwegian quickly "inanattempttohideourmistakesandmakeussoundmorenorwegian". Good insight.

I walked into the building, 15 minutes early (having registered a few hours earlier, and then spent 1.5 hours wandering around the neighborhood trying not to get lost), and the test proctor met me at the door: "Emily?"
"Ja?" sa jeg.
"We can test you now, the 12:45 student didn't show up."
"Ok!" sa jeg. "Jeg er klar, hvis jeg kan bare gå på do først!"
"Of course! I think it's better to just get this out of the way, then you're not so nervous."

We sat down at a small table across from one another, and another proctor sat at a table a few meters away from us. They asked me to tell me a bit about myself. I recited the sentences every Norwegian student knows by heart after the first week in class. My name is xxx, I come from xxx, I moved here xxx, I am educated as a xxx, I work as a xxx, I am married, i have xxx children. . .

Then she presented me with 3 lamenated pages. Each page had about 5 pictures on it. She told me I would choose one page, and I would be asked to describe the pictures, then I'd be asked to agree or disagree with a statement, and then we'd have a very short conversation about the topic.

My options consisted of digital communication (with pictures of computers, cell phones and email), sports and, I believe, gambling, and immigrant issues. To tell you the truth, I didn't even reallly look at the last two options. Knowing nothing about gambling and sports, and not really identifying with "immigrant issues in Norway", seeing that I am a white woman from a developed Western land, I choose the topic of digital communication.

First: describe what you see in the pictures. This was not elaborate, deep thoughts here people. "That's a computer, looks like they're talking on skype with each other. I really like skype--it helps me stay in contact with my family and friends. . . here's a cell phone, and they're sending an SMS to someone. Norwegians realy like to send SMS (it's true). . . "

Then the woman asked me to talk about the statement on the flip side: "I think digital technology has made us more lonely/alone". She told me I could take a few minutes to jot down a few notes, which for some reason or another, I declined and just jumped right in. (I think perhaps my confidence was positive???) I disagreed, and gave a few sentences of why I felt the way I did. Three sentences top.

Then she asked me a few questions (this is the "conversation" part of the test, but really was rather one sided): What are the dangers of technology and youth? What problems might there be with the elderly and technology? It is possible that we can get overwhelmed by the information out there? What dangers are there with security?

One thing I think everyone who is learning a foreign language learns to do is dance around what you really want to say until you find a sentence that contains the vocabulary that you actually possess. This "skill" was put to good use in that final section.

"Ok!" she said, after no more than 10 minutes, "We're done!"
"Completely done?" I asked. . . totally shocked.
"Ja!" 


This was actually a very good sign. In the test information it states that if there is any doubt about your ability to communicate, we could be asked to do a fourth section--looking at a graph or diagram of sorts, and asked to describe what it showed. Seeing that this didn't happen, I was incredibly encouraged.

In the hallway a few other students waited, nervously wringing their hands. Another man bounced down the hall, a big grin on his face. He reassured one of the nervous women: "It's easy! They are very nice!"

Results come in two weeks, along with the written test results.

Diving in. . .

About this time last spring, I was cramming for a Norwegian proficiency exam (Norsk Prøve 3) that was required of me to take a 3-week long mandatory nursing course for foreign educated nurses. I passed the language test, and although it was the highest level of language class that was required by the nursing authorities, I knew my language skills weren't truly good enough to work as a professional nurse or midwife. So, I enrolled in the next level class, a "studiegruppe" that prepares students to take the highest level test (the Bergenstest) which documents that one is fluent enough to enter university levels courses. I started this class in August, meeting two days a week. Life was nutty back then: every spare minute of my days were spent at the house, insulating, painting, sawing up something or another. Needless to say, I was a terrible student, but I felt justified because my time was more valuably spent working on the house. I attended class hoping to absorb the grammar lessons, hear the language spoken, and make even just minor improvements. After all, I didn't really need to be there, this was all just bonus points. I didn't need to take the Bergenstest. I had passed my required level of language proficiency.

Because of SAFH (nursing license people) dragging their feet on my nursing license paperwork, I was unable to register for the mandatory nursing course offered in November. This, too, prompted a deep valley on the roller coaster of life in Norway, but that was one of many sob stories I opted not to write about. Come late January, as I entered the second semester of my studiegruppe class, I attempted to register for the mandatory nursing course offered this coming May. Imagine my surprise, imagine the gut-sinking empty pit in my stomach, imagine the wave of nausea and accompanying cold sweat that overcame me when I read on the nursing website that they had changed their language requirement and I was now required to pass the Bergenstest.

My language teacher likes to tell us that 1) 60% of random Norwegians plucked off the street would not pass the Bergenstest and that 2) Norwegian high school students take 13 years of studying to get to that level of language competency. She shares these lovely thoughts with us not to discourage us (although they do) but to remind us that mastering a language is not something that comes quickly.

So I am beginning to cram for yet another Norwegian language exam. I thought the last one was a stretch to pass, given my short amount of time studying the language. This one is an even longer shot. I have no other choice than to dive right in, and really hit the books.

And now to get off the computer, and actually do as I said. . .  April 14th is approaching quickly.

We escape!

A foggy view up the Tower

 Still no internet access at the new house, so I try to squeeze in an hour or so at the library cafe, with a cappuccino to keep me company. 


Many friends have remarked how fun it must have been to spend Christmas in our new house, but the truth is we celebrated a very different Christmas this year. . . by escaping to Paris!


My in-laws wanted to spend Christmas with us, and luckily we came to our senses early enough in the remodeling process to realize that our home would not be very welcoming to guests by Christmas, even though we ourselves would be living there. Instead we opted to meet in Paris, joined by Erik's sister and her friends. It was perhaps my first Christmas ever without snow, aside from my first year of life in sunny Santa Barbara, California. But I must say, 45-50 degrees and sunny was a welcome breath of fresh air. 


We had a 9 hour layover in Copenhagen, which we took full advantage of, taking a 10 minute train ride into the center of town to take in the pre-Christmas atmosphere of a bustling Scandinavian city. We spent six days in Paris, and while it wasn't exactly relaxing in the poolside-vacation sense of the word, it was a welcomed break from the chaos of remodeling and moving that we've been immersed in for the past 7 months. 


I found it incredibly difficult to even utter simple French words like "merci" or "au revoir" or even "non". As I opened my mouth to respond, Norwegian words came out--not English--Norwegian! If I bumped into a person in a store, I wouldn't say "excusez-moi", I'd say "Unnskyld!" A waiter in a restaurant asked us (in English) what "other" language we spoke, after I responded "nei" to one of his English questions. It was quite amusing, actually, and even rather reassuring. I am so deeply immersed in Norwegian it is, in many cases, the first language that comes to my brain. I would read French signs, or rather see signs in French, and realize that had they been in Norwegian--I could understand them. My confidence in my language skills was boosted, and all it took was a trip to France to do so. 


We spent our New Year's Eve with the same friends that we celebrated with a year ago. It was very comforting to feel that we have established such good friendships in just 16 months that we have now spent two consecutive holidays with one another. And after spending the entire evening speaking--and understanding--Norwegian with each other, I realized once again how far I have come in the last year. 

A Norwegian tradition: Kristoffer smashes the
gingerbread house on New Year's Eve,
while Greta and Sebastian duck!

A year ago I was just beginning my formal Norwegian classes; classes that would prove to be both challenging and disappointing in their level and quality of instruction. On Thursday I will resume my classes again, meeting two days a week as we did throughout the fall. I was incredibly distracted and busy this fall, and felt like I neglected my studies like I have never done before in my life. I'm hoping that I can recommit myself to mastering this language this semester. The trip to France, in some ways, gave me extra motivation and encouragement to do so. 


I am also assembling material and letters to bring to SAFH (nursing license organization) in regards to both my midwife and nursing licenses. After the newspaper article, SAFH kicked their efforts into full gear, and responded to my midwife application within 3 weeks. Their judgement/assessment was not entirely satisfactory (in my humble opinion), but after some clarification about my experiences and qualification from my student midwife education, I am hopeful the application will be viewed more favorably. Ever hopeful, I am. 

Nor-glish

When one is learning a foreign language, it is very common to swap words between the languages, or fill in the blanks in one's memory with a word from the other language. Sometimes I just "norwegian-ize" an English word, and surprise! It works!


Greta is particularly good at throwing Norwegian words into her English sentences. One of the steadfast switcheroos is using the verb å bruke (to use) instead of "use". For example: "Can I bruk this spoon for breakfast?" or "I don't want to bruk that color!" I have tried to break this habit, playing a "game" in the car of "What to we use when we have cold hands?  We use mittens!" She thought it was really fun, and played along well, only to fall back on her use of bruke almost instantaneously. Often they are more amusing substitutions, such as this gem from yesterday: "I don't know which pappa I'm going to gifte meg (marry myself) to when I'm a mamma!" We completely understand her patched together sentences; it's our English speaking relatives who have trouble.


I admit I do the same thing--using Norwegian words in my English sentences. My use of the word barnehage is probably the best example. It does literally translate to kindergarten, but in the British sense of the word (preschool/daycare), not the American sense (first year of school at the age of 5). One of Greta's barnehage teachers, who is married to an American and speaks excellent English, would translate barnehage to kindegarten when she was speaking to us in English, as well as translating pappa to daddy. That one amused me--and confused Greta--more than anything: Erik is Pappa to Greta, and has been since Day 1 of Life, not Day 1 in Norway. He has never been "daddy", so it seemed particularly bizarre to hear that translated for our benefit.


With the number of new words we are immersed in, we sometimes find ourselves searching for the English word. This seems to be happening to Erik most often with the whole building process. He's been doing so much reading and research on home-building, products and supplies in Norwegian that he sometimes doesn't even know the English word. Our carpenter is Irish, but has lived in Norway for over 20 years, so we generally all speak with one another in English. But from time to time, the two of them stumble onto a construction word or phrase that they can't remember, and briefly switch to Norwegian just to get the point across.


Erik and I were at a tile store a few days ago, and were discussing the options with each other and a sales clerk. We both stumbled to find the word "grout" in English. It was as if my lips couldn't make the vowels come out correctly. It sounded too much like "gråte" (grow-tah), which means to cry or shout. Certainly we couldn't keep our tiles together with crying?? What is that word?  Ow, ow, grout!


Other times a Norwegian word sounds similar enough to an English word that my mind makes a leap of faith that they mean essentially the same thing. Take this story for example:


You might recall that Greta had "camp week" at the barnehage, and they spent the week learning about fall, hunting, animals, and exploring the woods. One days activities included a "skatt jakt". I knew that jakt meant hunt, and my Nor-glish brain took a leap of faith that "skatt" meant--well? What does it sound like to you? Scat! You know, animal poop!


This made sense to me. It fit perfectly into the week. The kids were learning about hunting. They were identifying animals that live in the forest. They were going out on hikes every day studying nature. Of course they were going to find animal poop and learn what was rabbit poop, what was moose poop, what was fox poop, etc. . . Maybe some die-hard teacher would even "plant" it out in the woods so they would have a great variety of poop to discover on their jakt.


Side note: Tika often accompanied us to the laavo (tent) to pick up Greta that week. She loves running through the woods, sniffing around, finding leftover grilled food, and the kids love seeing her. I noticed her making her own deposit of, you know, poop on the perimeter of the camp area one day (and seeing that I did not have a poop-bag with me, it was left to nature).


The afternoon of the skatt jakt I picked up Greta from the "camp" and chatted with Greta and her teacher about her day--what did she find on the jakt? "Did you find any rev bæsj? (fox poop) Any ku bæsj? (cow poop) Did you find any Tika bæsj? Because I think Tika left some the other day!" Greta is all giggles. . . "Noooo Mamma!" and the teacher just smiles and says something unintelligible in Norwegian, as she has a northern dialect that I can't always understand.


A week later, Erik and Greta come inside from a little walk they had done around the neighborhood. Greta collects stones, leaves, flowers, sticks, feathers, and we are often assigned to carry them all. Erik came in, displayed the fine array of flowers and leaves, and said "Look at Greta's skatt!" 


Huh?


Erik said, "Skatt. . . her treasures! We were on a skatt jakt looking for treasures. And look at them all!"


Oh boy. . . that explains a lot. I did think it was a little weird to go out looking for animal poop, but I just thought it was all part of the Norwegian experience. So, maybe the barnehage kids didn't think that finding my dog's pile of poop to be such a great skatt after all. . .

catch-up

I feel like I am "behind" in my blogging, like there is a quota I'm supposed to fill or something. But as events pass me by, or as I experience and live through life more accurately, I feel like I should be noting them somehow. But, life is busy, and I've got some engaging knitting projects goin' on.

My brother and his samboer (long-term girlfriend) came to visit us for the last two weeks, escaping late-summer mugginess in Washington DC and arriving to cool early-fall (mostly) sunshine in Lillehammer. How they lucked out on the weather, I don't know. We had a fantastic time with them here, and Greta basked in the attention of her uncle and aunt. Despite not opening a guide book for Norway until about 3 weeks before their trip, we still managed to assemble a nice sampling of Norway: Lillehammer, hike to a mountain hotel, a small taste of Oslo, a Norway in a Nutshell trip, 3 days in Bergen, and back to Lillehammer. Fjords, high alpine mountains, glacier, reindeer meat, Aquavit, barnehage visit, a dozen bouquets of dandelions and daisies, and approximately 3,000 pictures of one adorable 3-year old. More on their visit later. . .

I restarted my Norwegian classes last week, this class being a "study group" for the Bergen's test (the test required for non-native speakers who want to study at the university level). I have no plans or desires to study at the university level here, but it is the next level of class available here. I could definitely use the practice and exposure to more instruction in Norwegian. 3 days into the class (we meet Tuesdays and Thursdays) I'm much more optimistic and encouraged than I was last spring, and it's a little strange to feel so positive about class. The students are motivated, the teacher is invested and energetic, the class is small. All good things. More on this titillating subject later. . .

A few weeks ago, I took a mommy-day and escaped to Oslo for the day. It's just a little too time consuming to do just a day trip for, I've decided. It's a 2.5 hour train/bus ride (depending on if the train tracks are flooded or not), so 5 hours of the day is simply transportation. Then add on the 20 minute bus ride at the end of the trip to get me to Øyer, and the 10 minute walk up the road. . . it's a long day. The particular day I chose was one of three days of an arts and crafts festival in downtown Oslo. Going to art fairs is part of what makes summer summer to me, so although it was a bit smaller than I had hoped, it was still really enjoyable. The weather was gorgeous, and I basically spent the day wandering around the downtown. Will touch on the highlights of this little getaway soon, too. . .

The house is coming along. The søknad (application to the city) has been submitted, after weeks of waiting for our architect to come back from his relaxing 3+ week vacation and finalize our plans! The 3-week countdown for the city to consider the plans is underway, and we hope to begin major work around September 15th. In the meantime, the plumber has been in and essentially finished plumbing for the basement laundry room, first floor bathroom, and kitchen. Our electrician broke his foot, and after minimal scrambling, we we found another. He has wired nearly everything in the current home, and after he finishes a bit more work this week, we should be able to put up some walls. In fact, our carpenter was working with Erik on Friday, and they had already begun to put up the paneling on Greta's walls and ceiling. More news, with pictures, coming soon. . . .

On a side note, I want to mention how truly saddened we are to watch and read the news reports of the flooding in Vermont. Hurricane Irene dumped 6-12 inches of rain across the state, and the flooding has devastated so much of that beautiful state. Vermont is so near and dear to our hearts, and we have many friends still there (although everyone we know seems to be safe and unharmed). It is just heartbreaking to see the destruction.

So that, dear readers, should keep you on the edge of your seat until I can find a little spare time between knitting projects, building projects, essay writing, verb memorizing, mothering and entertaining guests and finally write full updates on the above sneak previews. 

And. . . skriftlig bestått (written passed)

Perhaps it was the exhaustion of 2 moves in 5 days, 12+ hours of house-cleaning, and the promise of living out of suitcases for months that stunted my reaction this time around. Or perhaps it was being handed the envelope at 7:30am by Erik, while I still sat groggily in bed. Or maybe I had used up all my jumping up and down jumping up and down excitement with the first Norsk Prøve 3 results, two weeks earlier. Or maybe I was just so convinced I actually would pass that I really wasn't so worried. No. . . definitely not the last one. But when Erik handed me the envelope, which he had fetched from the mailbox around midnight the night before--and wisely opted not to wake me over--I was rather numb.

But I did it. I passed that stinking skriftlig norsk prøve 3-- all three stinking sections: writing of essays, reading comprehension and listening comprehension.

I didn't jump up and down. I didn't whoop. I didn't fist-pump "YES!" like my Norwegian friend did when she heard my news. I think I sighed heavily. Shed a few tears of relief, but didn't really feel a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.

I know I certainly would have an intense reaction if I had failed. I would have cried--quite hard--knowing I would have to study more, retake the exam, postpone a nursing class, and put my life on hold even further.

But, now I don't. And if I weren't so distracted by suitcases scattered all over, federal taxes that still need to be filed, and the great unknown of architect plans and housing options for August and September, I probably would have jumped up and down.

But I didn't.

2am and a drunk Norwegian uncle

We spent about 24 hours this weekend up at the Rustad Hotel in Sjusjøen, which is operated by friends of ours. One of Erik's former American ski-racing buddies married a Norwegian woman, and lo and behold, they now live just 20 minutes from us, operating a great mountain hotel on a lake called Sjusjøen. The happy couple was celebrating their wedding (from last September) and about 70 Norwegian, Danish and American guests joined them at the hotel. Besides ourselves, the American guests were limited to Mike's parents, aunt and uncle, and a cousin with her husband. 


I go to these sort of events always with both trepidation and anticipation. How ostracized will I feel? How much Norwegian won't I understand? But also feeling happy to get out of the house and socialize, happy to get out of Lillehammer (even by just 25km) and into some new environs. 


I would call this outing a success*, albeit with that pesky asterisk. Excuse my brief foray into Mommy-Blog, but I feel the need to vent:


Greta's the kind of toddler who thrives on a schedule, and who also really needs her sleep. She's an 11.5 hour at night, 1-2.5 hour napper kind of kid. Bedtime is 7:45pm. So, around 8:30pm last night, after eating loads of cake and charming the bukser off the Norwegians and Americans alike, Greta and I headed to our room for bedtime. She had been so excited about sleeping in her pack and play again. We did the general routine (teeth, books, binky, goodnight songs), into the pack and play. I won't get into the details, but let's just fast forward three hours later,  and this child is still awake! She pulled out every delay tactic I could have imagined (okay, here are the gory details), including pooping in the only diaper we had along with us (c'mon! She's potty trained! She uses one diaper a night! Why do I need extras?), then peeing in the too-small emergency diaper I miraculously located in the car, unlocking and opening the door to the veranda next to her pack and play (calling out "Mamma! The door's open!"), switching to a big-girl bed, climbing out of bed to "check on something in my bag", refusing to close her eyes after professing a desire to "nap", and somehow convincing me that cuddling with her in the big girl bed would actually be helpful. 


Around midnight she was asleep. I was exhausted, frustrated, now in pajamas, and had missed 3 hours of the party. (In Erik's defense, he offered help but I sent him back to the Norwegians, on whom I was blaming this disastrous bedtime). It felt like a really crummy way to end a fun evening, but I was in no mood to return to the winding down party. 

But I rallied, got dressed again, put on some lipstick, and rejoined the party. Around 1am Erik and I were cornered by a somewhat tipsy Norwegian aunt and uncle (educators of some sort). After chastising their new nephew-in-law on his lack of Norwegian skills after living here for over 2 years, told us over and over, in no uncertain terms how impressed they were with our Norwegian skills. Specifically, my Norwegian skills. Over and over. . . "Americans. . . speaking such good Norwegian. . . it is just so impressive, I am so impressed. . . ". To be clear: this was said in Norwegian, not English. 

Now, Erik has impressive Norwegian (for a non-native). Norwegians try to pin him down. . ."where are you from?" "what's that dialect?" Some assume he was raised here as a child, but moved away; others that his parents were Norwegian, and it was spoken at home; some that he grew up in a different region of the country. This particular Norwegian uncle seemed rather impressed by his ability to speak in a Voss dialect (a region where he spent his first year of Norway, from 1993-94), and understand certain quirks of the dialects. And it is impressive: he went to school in two very distinct regions of the country, two distinct dialects, for under two years. And then returned to the United States for 15 years before returning to Norway! 

But for this tipsy uncle to be saying to me, "after just 10 months. . . very impressive, very good Norwegian,". . .  honestly? It made me cry. It could have been the fact that it was 2am, or that I had waged a 3 hour bedtime battle, or that I had way too many glasses of wine, or that my contact lenses should have come out hours ago. But that flood of compliments were too much for me to hold back the tears.

Norsk prøve 3: ferdig (finished)

Today, at 11am sharp, immigrant students across the country of Norway sat down to take Norsk Prøve 3 (the 2nd level of Norwegian proficiency). 

It was a challenge, that’s for sure. Reading comprehension, the easiest (as expected).  Listening, a bit more difficult than I expected, namely because I didn’t understand all the words in the question. “Is it higher, lower, or pblørjæreneskap”. One can only guess that means “in the middle” or “unchanging” or “pending” or something to that effect.  “Is Lars angry, sad, or skjeløerfætig”. Hmm. . . from the 5 seconds that my brain processed him to actually be speaking he seemed pretty positive, so he must have been skjeløerfætig! 

The speaking part was a bit easier than I expected, to be honest (so if I don’t pass. . .grrr. . . ). We were paired with a partner, mine a 50 year old woman from Lithuania, married to a Norwegian man, who takes the evening language course in Lillehammer two nights a week. We were given our first topic: “Talk together about what your ideal job would be in Norway.” Easy! This is a topic of conversation with just about every other person I meet in Norway. Second, individual topic: “Talk about something you enjoy doing, something you are very flink (capable) at”. Also rather easy. I talked about how I like to knit and sew, how I’ve made many sweater and hats for my daughter, how I don’t have a sewing machine in Norway, how I’ve met Norwegian friends through my knitting group. (I think the norsk teachers liked this: it shows I’m meeting other Norwegians, and using Norwegian outside of class, and trying to integrate. Not that this matters in trying to pass the test. . . but maybe???)  My partner was asked to speak, individually, about a place that she thinks is very nice. She kind of rambled on and on, vaguely, about Lithuania.

Finally, we were asked to discuss together “what we think is different or similar between Norway and our homelands”. This is one of those very broad topics that you can kind of bend whatever way you want. Are you most able to talk about food? Fine. Sports? Great. Weather? Go at it. I was a little annoyed with my partner, as I was told to begin the first conversation, and she was told to begin the second conversation. She proceeded to do so by saying, “So, Emily. . . what do you think is different in Norway from your homeland?” Cop out! “Maybe the weather?” she prompted. I responded by saying the weather is very much the same, where I grew up it’s cold, blah blah blah. In the end, while I was most worried about the topics of conversation being difficult, they weren’t. I just hope my grammar met their standards. We were certainly able to communicate, both with each other and with the teachers, but whether this is enough, is anybody’s guess.

The writing was the longest portion of the test (90 minutes) and also challenging. In fact, my hand is still kind of shaking from all the gripping it’s done in the last 4 hours. Every test begins with a short (100 word) “letter” of some sort, usually a complaint letter to the newspaper, city council, or neighborhood council. This was a letter to your neighborhood/community council regarding your neighbor who makes a lot of noise at night. It’s pretty easy to embellish these letters, such as “I hope you can help me with my big problem. My new neighbor moved into the neighborhood 3 months ago and . . . “ See—used up 20 words already. And have demonstrated my ability to properly use adjectives and several prepositions.  The second, longer (200 words) essays are generally more challenging. Today, we had a choice between two: 1) Write about a store that you’d like to open. If you’ve had a store before, you can talk about what you did.  Or 2) Write about what it takes to make a good [word you don’t understand]. Shit! What does that word mean? Environment? Together-something-meeting? Arrrrg. . .  So, the choice was pretty easy. I must write about a “butikk” that I want to open. (Turns out that mystery word was “community”. Probably should have known that one). Again, I fell back on knitting. “I have always had a desire to open a knitting and coffee store.” Problem was, I know how to say the verb “to knit”, but then became very unsure of the noun “knitting” (yes, it’s strikking). But norsk doesn’t use too many “-ing” words. Like, “running” isn’t a noun—you use “to run”. So, I’m crossing my fingers that in the variety of ways that I used the words “strikke, strikking, å strikke”, something will be right. I actually began eliminating it all together, simply describing it as “my store” and a place “to knit”.

But here’s the deal: I have been in an official Norwegian class for FIVE months. We had to write on a pre-test survey how many hours of instruction we’ve received, and I was told I had 304 hours. My classmate sitting behind me? Two thousand hours. Two thousand hours. I say this not to brag. Really, not at all. I am writing this down as a reminder to myself that should I fail, I’ve still come a helluva long way in five months. Results arrive in the mail in 3-6 weeks.

Stay tuned. . .

Busy busy busy

I know, I know. . .
Our first Syttende mai in Norway, and I don't even have a post up. For all of you die-hards, wondering how our first Norwegian Constitution Day was in Norway, you're just going to have to wait a bit longer.
And the other crazy stuff going on in our household, also wait a bit for news and pictures.

I'm putting in serious time studying Norwegian, as the norsk prøve 3 (Norwegian test 3) is coming up on Tuesday. I am not sure how it will go, as it consists of 2 parts: a speaking portion, in which I am paired with a partner, and we are given 2 different topics to talk about together, and then an individual topic. These topics are usually something along the lines of, "talk about traditions in Norway compared to your homeland", or "talk about differences between generations", or "what makes for a good life". Vague, strange stuff, that I don't feel I have sufficient vocabulary to address. I will be surprised if I pass the speaking test.

The second portion of the test is reading, listening and writing. I believe I will pass, likely pass and probably not pass this portion of the test, in that order. Ahhh. . . such confidence!

I won't have results til mid-July, but will write an update on Tuesday on my initial impressions of norsk prøve 3!

Flashback: 3 Weeks into Norwegian Classes

Dear readers. . . Here is a post from late January that I never completely finished and therefore never posted. I realized recently that I never have posted anything very specific about my Norwegian classes. This really surprises me, seeing that so much of my life over the last 8 months has revolved around my ability--or inability--to learn and speak the language. 


So, without further ado. . . 

I now have 3 weeks of Norwegian classes under my belt, and hopefully have a little something to show for it other than some new gray hairs. Arg.

I wanted a challenge, and that is what I got. So for that I should be grateful. I was concerned that I'd be in a class where I'd be re-learning present tense verbs, and instead I got a class where the teacher wrote down and students recited four new tense of verbs I hadn't learned yet. Note to self: skip ahead to "new verb tenses" chapter.

The bureaucracy surrounding the Norwegian language classes has been a frustrating experience up until this point, and the first day of class was not any different. I was not given any information ahead of time other than "class is at 8:15am" --no room number, no class level, no teacher name--nothing (although I actually thought they said 7:45am, but the entire building was still dark and locked up at that time of day). Note to self: review "how to tell time" chapter. I spent nearly a half hour trying to find someone who could tell me which class I was in, and where the class was meeting. I thought this would be relatively simple, but the Learning Center does not teach just one Norsk kurs. They appear to be teaching at least 3 adult level classes, and have an entire elementary, middle and high school program running for immigrant students until they can be absorbed into the regular public schools. I was delivered to the appropriate room, 10 minutes late on the first day of school-thank-you-very-much, to a room with 6 other students and to a teacher who had no idea she was getting a new student that day. Again: thank you very much.

We made simple introductions, and I learned that the majority of my classmates had been in Norway for at least. . . 1.5 years, and some off and on for nearly 6. They included a married couple in their 40s from Lithuania, a dating couple in their early 20s also from Lithuania, a man from Somalia and another man from Eritrea (which took me 3 weeks to figure out what he was saying, and then another day to look it up on Wikipedia, ignorant American that I am).

To say I was overwhelmed is an understatement. The students have a very good grasp of Norwegian, and seem to understand everything the teacher is saying to them, and can also rather clearly express themselves. I, on the other hand, could not. I quickly realized that I was lagging behind in two important areas: comprehension of "real" spoken language and verbal expression. I tried to remind myself that it was only natural for me to feel overwhelmed. After all, I've never taken a Norwegian class in my life, and this was the most intense exposure to the spoken language than I've had in the last 5 months. And I tried to treat the experience as a true "immersion" language class, knowing that the struggle to comprehend will eventually pay off. But it's hard not to feel like an idiot nonetheless.

May 2011 update:
To say my Norwegian class is an interesting experience is yet another understatement. Am I learning? Reflecting back over the last 4 months, I would say "yes". Has it been as effective as it could--or should--be? Absolutely not.


But, more on that later. 

A bit of honesty

It's not always a fun adventure to be living the ex-pat life here in Norway. Sometimes it kind of sucks, to be brutally honest. Yes, we moved here primarily for the adventure factor, saying we wanted to look back 20 years from now and say, "wow, that was crazy/fun/amazing/remember when we lived in Norway. . . ". And we knew there would be tough times, so I'm going to write honestly about those tough times.

When we moved, our American friends and family asked me, "are you going to be able to work there?" I replied, naively, "Yes! They have midwives everywhere, and everyone (i.e. non-official, lay folk) in Norway says, we need midwives!" Here are the problems I did not anticipate:

1. Norwegian bureaucracy not immediately recognizing an American nursing and midwife education to be the equivalent of their own. 
2. Norwegian bureaucracy taking 7+ months (and counting) to review nursing license applications.
3. Not even considering my midwife license until after all qualifications have been met on my nursing license.
4. Being required to take a national nursing course for foreign educated nurses that is only offered two times a year (March and November)
1. Needing to pass a language proficiency test (Norsk prøve 3) prior to taking the nursing course, and that test only being offered three times a year (February, May, and October).
2. The October test results arriving too late to allow you to take the November nursing course, thus delaying the nursing course until Spring of the Following Year (i.e. 2012).
5. So. . . if I can't get a nursing license until Spring 2012. . . and they won't evaluate a midwife license until after that. . . and it took 7+ months of processing for a nursing license. How long til the midwife license is processed? Maybe Late 2012, early 2013?

Have I mentioned this was not at all what I had planned?

As I not-so-patiently wait for SAFH to declare my obviously poor American nursing education to be on-par to their vastly superior Norwegian nursing education, I study study study Norwegian. I am now faced with a language proficiency test at the end of May: a level that I (and my teacher and a not-so-supportive classmate) feel I am unlikely to pass, seeing that I have only been in language classes for 4 months. This tests consists of a reading comprehension test (which I do well on in our practice tests), a listening comprehension (which I sometimes pass and sometimes fail), a writing test (a 100 and 200 word essay on various topics, in which I struggle tremendously with prepositions), and a speaking/conversation portion (which we rarely practice in class. Go figure). So, to correct this, Erik and I are trying to speak bare norsk hjemme (only Norwegian at home) until the test on May 30. Many days I cry, frustrated with my inability to express myself or understand him. Other days I feel a bit more flink (capable). 

And so, we wait: wait til the end of May, and see how the tests goes. . . . wait until SAFH gets their act together and gives me some sort of response. . . . and we'll reevaluate this roller-coaster ex-pat adventure, make new goals, new plans. 

Just a little catch-up

It is "vinter ferie" in Norway, several week chunks of time when Norwegian school shut down for a week (staggered around the country) so families can use up their generous vacation time and/or scramble for childcare for those not in barnehage. My own Adult Learning Center is also on Vinter Ferie, so I have the week off as well. I have been looking forward to it for a loooong time, as I feel like my norsk kurs organization has gone to the pits. All I've been able to do is keep up with the material from class, and not actually do any catch-up from my alternative learning material.

And now it's nearly noon on my first day off, and all I've managed to do is 1) sleep in (that was nice)  2) let Greta sleep in (also nice)   3) get Greta to barnehage by the 9:30am cut-off   4) catch-up on Oscar winners and Natalie Portman baby bump gossip   5) minimal Facebook time-suck, I swear   6) start our US Federal Taxes. Seriously! Proving to be a big pain, as I expected them to be.  7) a teeny bit of laundry.

I have big goals for vinter ferie which include 1) a few days off with Greta  2) haircuts for me and Greta  3) possibly traveling to Oslo with Erik to watch a World Championship ski race???  4) taxes   5) transforming the yarn room into a guest room for March guests  6) finishing two sweaters that just need to be blocked and seamed  7) photo albums updated for the last year   8) BLOG UPDATES, on, like, Norwegian class. And last but not least, 9) mastering the Norwegian language, one verb at a time.

Stay tuned!

Running hurdles, and jumping though hoops

My last post has generated a lot of hits--people from known locations (here's a shout out to the readers in Lebanon, NH, Wilmette, IL, and Minneapolis, MN: I know who you are!)--but who the heck is reading from Sweden and Tulsa, OK? Honestly. . . I'd love to hear from you.


Anyway, I'm hanging in there, gathering my artillery for my appeal. I have 3 weeks to assemble it. Well, now I'm down to 2 weeks. For those who are curious, my main argument is going to be drawing attention to the fact that they interpreted my degree to be a 2 year degree, and not a 4 year degree. I also did not include my master's degree curriculum as a part of my nursing application, as it was most pertinent to my midwife application. But I will not make that mistake again. They want paperwork? They're gonna get it. . .


From the sheer numbers I've seen, I think Norwegian nursing students do spent more time in actual clinicals than I did as an undergraduate nursing student, ahem, 15 years ago. But, is it really necessary to spend 8 weeks in an old-folks home, turning patients, assisting with bedpans, giving bedbaths, making beds? And, did my years spent providing 1:1 patient:nursing care to micro-preemies with arterial lines, blood pressure medicines, total parenteral nutrition, high-frequency ventilators, the tiniest urinary catheters you've ever seen. . . did this not give me a little bit of credibility in their eyes? Does that experience mean nothing to them? Or do I really need to jump through the hoops of wiping old people's butts for 8 weeks to prove my worth?


Erik is the optimist, and I am the pessimist. So, it's very hard for me to not worry about 2 months from now, 6 months, 2 years, 5 years. . . and just enjoy what's happening right now. I feel like there is a lot riding on my ability to work (and most importantly earn) as a professional here.  Mastering the language is a huge hurdle that I am willing to tackle, but getting more hurdles thrown in my way is so discouraging. 


And no, the irony of the fact that I was once a 100m hurdling superstar* is not lost on me. 

OMG: was that really 20 years ago?

*My words, not anyone elses. . . 

Confusion and Flusteration

I'm weighing gym membership options here in Lillehammer, and recently was given a tour of Elixia. This week I've I taken advantage of a week pass to try out a few of the classes. I was running late for a yoga class, a bit unsure where the class was held, and as always thinking of what I might say in Norwegian if someone were to ask. I was also noticing things in the gym that I hadn't noticed on my tour, like where the bathrooms were, and the line across the hall where one must remove their boots. 


As I left the women's locker room, I noticed a counter just outside the locker room where members can alphabetically file their workout cards. I remember thinking, "that's a handy spot! I don't remember that from the tour" as I mindlessly headed towards the door to the gym. But alas, the door to the gym was actually not the door to the gym: it was the door into the men's locker room. I think I turned around in mid-air, the door already closing behind me, and I'm reasonably convinced no one even saw me. The "door" to the gym was in fact a wide doorless doorway, and I have no idea how I failed to navigate that turn. 


But, on to the task at hand: find the yoga class. A bit flustered from my near-encounter with male flesh, I hurry through the gym to the room where I believed the class to be. But alas again, no class in the yoga room. I stumble through a jibbery Norwegian/English sentence with a staff member in the classroom, and increasingly flustered, turn around to hurry back through the gym to the other room for large classes. But--boom! A woman is blocking my way, sweaty in workout clothes, hair in a pony-tail, and she asks me, in Norwegian, "What sports did you do in the US?" 


What sports did I do???  What kind of greeting is that?


The following thoughts simultaneously race through my head:

• Who the heck is this woman? Do I know her? Is she a mother at the barnehage? Is she in my norskkurs? Does she work with Erik? 
• T o r t u o u s l y   t r a n s l a t e   w h a t   s h e   i s   a s k i n g   m e .  .  .  .  
• How does she know I'm from the US? She's asking about sports in the US? Does she remember me from track in the US? That's impossible. . . 
• How do I say "track" in Norwegian. . . I know this one. . . running. . . løpe. . .  hurdles. . . 
• And where the heck is my yoga class?  I'm really going to be late!

It hit me about 2 minutes later that she was, in fact,  Elizabeth, a Lithuanian woman from my Norwegian class. At least I had the weekend ahead of me to compose my apology to her, and look up a few words in my dictionary, like confused, (didn't) recognize, and men's locker room. 

Lesson learned: Norwegians are prompt

This past weekend, Lillehammer hosted the World Cup ski jumping competition. It was another freezing cold weekend, and spectators were sparse, but a few of Erik's colleagues decided they wanted to attend the competition as a group. Seeing that we live just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the venue we invited his colleagues over at noon for some Christmas cookies and coffee before the finals on Sunday afternoon.

We planned on making a few American-style Christmas cookies, and bought a Norwegian kranskake for our tabletop as well. Saturday afternoon we busied ourselves with decorating the tree and making cookie dough, and Sunday morning we jumped right into baking at 8am. By 11:30am, the final batch of gingerbread cookies came out of the oven, but we still had to finish the dishes, sweep and vacuum the floors and carpets, change our clothes, and eat some lunch (since I hadn't had breakfast, other than sampling the cookies coming out of the oven) before guests arrived at noon.

However. . . at 11:50, the first two guests arrived! As I sprinted to the bedroom to change out of my grimy yoga/baking clothes, the second family arrived! By 12:10, our house was filled with about 15-20 of Erik's colleagues and their children. Erik told me later he had gotten a text from a colleague saying he would in fact be coming to the party, but would be arriving a little late. . . at 12:30.

Having a houseful of Norwegian speakers was a disorienting experience, and a little overwhelming. After about an hour of the party, Erik asked how I was doing, and I whispered, "I think I'm ready for them all to leave now!" I tried to put my finger on why I felt so off-balance, and I think it's because this house is my home, it's my sanctuary, my English-sanctuary, and it's easy to forget that I'm in a foreign country here.  I was a bit unprepared for the body-slam of Norwegian that came busting through my front door that morning. People literally poured in the house, some of whom I've never met, who I didn't know if they were spouses or colleagues, whose names I didn't catch, whose names I didn't dare ask they repeat for a third or four time "En gang til?" (One more time?), children who whispered their names, a few who looked at me like, "duh-we've met!" Then to wander from one room to the next, trying to play hostess, yet unable to just effortlessly merge into an on-going conversation, I felt like I didn't belong in my own home, which then reminded me how this just isn't quite "home" yet. I was grateful that Greta was a little clingy, as she also seemed a bit overwhelmed by the sudden influx of children in her home, playing with her toys and climbing into her crib (umm, hello?).

The other struggle that I have in both small and large social gatherings is my desire to blend in, and not be the reason that everyone must switch over to English. For one, it's important for me to hear Norwegian as much as possible. But on the other hand, I feel like I must appear to be either very shy or stand-offish, or submissive, as I stand there and say nothing, because I'm only following 25% of the conversation.

And 25% is just an educated guess. No scientific tests have been run to test the theory that I understand 25% of Norwegian conversations.

Thanksgiving in Lillehammer

Happy Thanksgiving!

We managed to find a 5.9kg (about 12 lbs) turkey, I still had a can of pumpkin puree in the cupboard that survived the trip over the Atlantic, and we never were a big fan of cranberries, so Norwegian tyttebær was a good substitute for our first Thanksgiving as ex-pats. It was one of the first Thanksgivings that we've hosted in the 8 years we've been married. Nearly every Thanksgiving has been spent with the Blumberg family in Thetford, Vermont, whom I affectionately refer to as our "surrogate Jewish parents", as they are parents (and in-laws) to our dear friends who live in Alaska, we feel like we fill a void around the table, and, well, they're Jewish. And we're not, so it's funny and affectionate. Really!


THIS year we invited our new friends, whom I will call R&M, and their boys K&S, who are at Greta's barnehage. S. is in Greta's class, and K. is 5 years old, and in the oldest kids class. R&M have been so welcoming to us, inviting me to M's 40th birthday party, to a workout group of women each week, and similar invitations for Erik as well. R. even jumped my car Wednesday night, when the battery died at the barnehage, and said to me in very clear English, "that's what friends are for." So, we felt they were worthy of the invitation, and they were enthusiastic guests. 


We tried a number of new recipes, including stuffing the bird with dried fruits and nuts (delicious), and a tasty sweet potato recipe with raisins and walnuts as well. The turkey was basted with an orange flavored liquid, so we had a fruit theme to our meal. I made two apple pies and a pumpkin cheesecake, of which Erik brought one pie and the cheesecake to work today, as it was his day for Friday "treats". The pumpkin-flavored dessert was a new flavor for the Norwegians, and since they ate 3/4 of it, I think it was a hit.


And now a quick Top 10 Thankful List, in no particular order.


I am thankful. . . 
1. That our house in Vermont sold before we left the state.
2. That our cars sold before we left the country.
3. That our dog is alive after flying in the belly of a plane during a hot August in Minnesota.
4. That we have a comfortable, warm, cozy home, if only for a year.
5. That my husband* is talented enough and intelligent enough and persevered long enough that this idea of moving to Norway actually became reality! 
6. For technology that allows me to see my friends and family, and talk to them for pennies, if not for free.
7. For my family, who instead of crying "you're moving where?" said "This will be such a great adventure for you. When can we visit?"
8. For Tina Fey, who makes me giggle and proud to be a outspoken, liberal-minded woman in my (gulp) mid 30s with brown hair and the need for corrective lenses.
9. For my rosy-cheeked little daughter, who delights and amazes me every day. 
10. That I'll be starting a level-2 language class in January**. So then, even if the class moves slowly, at least I can blame someone else for not challenging me, versus now, when at the end of the day I've learned absolutely nothing, I only have myself to blame. 


Happy Thanksgiving!


*I'm thankful for Erik for many other reasons, too, but I opted to make it a Top 10 list.
**It's true! Just got the news today!

Thanks a lot, Google Translate

A World Cup Ski Jumping competition is coming to Lillehammer on December 3-5, and they are looking for volunteers to help with the event. Erik suggested it might be a good opportunity to meet some locals, speak a little Norwegian, and have fun. So, I emailed the contact people, making it very clear that I speak only a little Norwegian, but would be happy to help out.

I received a few emails thanking me for my interest, including one who stated he had "responsibilities to the press, and maybe you would be helpful" (or so confirmed Google Translate, when I copied and pasted his email into the web translating service). The next email was a little more complex, and from a different organizer, so I pasted the entire email into Google Translate. Here is the response:
Hi-
Send over the dates for voluntary work in connection with toilet 2 to 5.11 in 2010.We have 2 girls / damersom participate in our group, and there had been very very positive with a girl.Give me feedback when it's convenient for you to be with.Welcome, you should be!


My reaction upon reading the translation?


TOILETS? I don't want to work in the TOILETS!


How. . . wha. . . ???  I didn't get ANY hint of toilets when I attempted my own translation. How was this possible? How did I get signed up for TOILETS???


Ohhhhh. . . .
As I glanced back to the original email, I realized the volunteer organizer had abbreviated "World Cup" to "WC". And Google had translated "WC" to. . . . toilets.


What a relief. 

Language learnin' . . . (now with a Tika update!)

My Grand Plan, upon arriving in Norway, was to immediately sign up for language classes and fully immerse myself in Norwegian. I have a Norwegian textbook and workbook that are used in American colleges, and I had dabbled in learning Norwegian in the months leading up to our move in August. But everyone kept telling me "oh, you'll learn it when you get there."  True. . . but it's not so easy.

Even Tika is learning Norsk.
Here I caught her studying "Se og Si", which is
pronounced "say oh see" but really means
 "See and say," which is so confusing I
still don't have it straight in my head after 4 months.

The week after we arrived in Norway, we went to the Volksenoplæringen (community learning center) to register for a norsk kurs. A first level class had started the week before, which I was hoping to join, but was told the course was full and I couldn't be squeezed in. The next class would start in. . . November. (Now, as I write this in November, you think "that's not so far away,"  but when I was told this in AUGUST, it felt very far away). This was not a part of my Grand Plan.

So, in the meantime, I continued my efforts at home in hopes that I might join the second level class come November. Just last week I received a phone call from the learning center informing me that the November class won't actually start until JANUARY. I politely explained how I hoped to join the second level class, and would this be possible. I was then tersely informed that "that class is full, and there is no room for you." Perhaps they didn't mean to be terse, and it was just the fact that they were being succinct with their English-as-a-second-language skills. But if felt really crappy.

I'm really not happy about what feels like my only option to join a first level class FIVE months after we arrive here. I've essentially covered a semester's worth of material at home on my own. I've also recently discovered a website with interactive assignments to be used with the Norwegian text they use at the learning center, and I've breezed through the first 12 chapters of that.

On the other hand, I'm also not convinced that attending classes at the learning center will be all that I hope it will be anyway. I've had at least 4 sources who have either first- or second-hand knowledge of the courses tell me the courses move extreeeeemely slowly, which can be very frustrating for the motivated student who wants to learn as quickly as possible. I've been told the slow pace is due primarily because the courses are mostly filled with asylum refugees who may have little formal education, no knowledge of a Germanic language, and are essentially being paid by the Norwegian government to attend classes and therefore have little incentive to learn quickly. This sounds pretty racist when I put it down in black and white (it also sounds rather black and white), and I am just reporting what I've been told, and haven't witnessed myself. But it does make me wonder if my expectations for these courses are way too high.

In the meantime we've come up with a few alternatives, with suggestions from other English speakers who have successfully learned the Norwegian language in Norway. I'll continue to hit the books at home; we'll actually try to watch more TV--Norwegian TV, and hopefully with subtitles; listen to the radio, even if it's just background noise; read newspapers and magazines; and finally, go to a 3rd grade elementary school class!

This last suggestion was made by at least two American friends now living in Norway, and was made possible by one of Erik's colleagues who has a 3rd grader at a local school. The school is an "open school", which quite honestly I don't know what that means, aside from the fact that parents are welcome to visit as much as they wish. The 3rd grade teacher, who I will call A., was very open to the idea of me coming. So last Friday, I attended my first day of Norwegian 3rd grade.

Those are some smart little Norwegian kids. Their Norwegian is so good! They speak so quickly! ARG! Maybe I need a remedial 1st grade class!

I've attended about 4 days (only 2-3 hours a day) of school thus far, and I can understand the jest of the topic of conversation, but not usually the details that are rather important. Such as "students. . . conjugated verb. . . book. . . . you can. . . . table.  .  . conjugated verb. . . lunchtime. . . . red car." It's very overwhelming, even though there are absolutely no expectations that I do anything. I've listened to a morning theme discussion about Hindu-people and how they pick a baby's name, the Stoneage people and what the first housepets were (goats and pigs, in case you're wondering), math class about volume, learning to write a cursive "R" and "r", and crafts where they sewed a button onto a felt pouch they had made and braided a handle. That was the first time I felt I could actually communicate with some of the kids.

Erik and I plan on visiting the learning center soon, and make a personal plea to let me join the second level class, letting them know that there is essentially a job awaiting me as soon as my Norwegian is "okay". We're hopeful this might melt their icy Nordic hearts.

Quick jaunt to England

Victoria Memorial

About 3 weeks ago, I took a quick “mini-break” trip to England for a friend’s wedding! It seemed so close, so easy, so doable back in May, when I was still in Vermont. That was before the 6am train ride from Lillehammer to Oslo, the flight to Amsterdam, the second flight to London, the hour long tube ride from Heathrow to Victoria Station, and then the next afternoon the two hour train ride to Sussex.

No, it wasn’t easy. But it was a lot of fun.

Zipped up to Buckingham Palace

Yes, they really wrote "easyHotel" 
on their walls.

British efficiency bathroom: hey, it's
clean, cheap. I can't complain.

My travel companions for most of this trip were my Dartmouth midwife colleague/buddy Auben and her new beau, Rob. Auben and I both work(ed) with the bride, our Social Worker Super Star, Catriona, back in New Hampshire. Catriona is English; her husband-to-be is a New Hampshire native. I arrived Wednesday evening in London, and seeing that I had 45 minutes until I had to meet Auben for dinner, I dumped off my gear in my orange-themed “Easy Hotel” basement-level-windows-cost-extra hotel room, and buzzed up to see Buckingham Palace. Kind of my “pinch me I’m in London” moment. I then proceeded to get thoroughly and completely lost on my way back to the hotel, when I opted to take a “more direct” route. Thankfully, Auben and her beau were waiting patiently in the spacious lobby of Easy Hotel (you think I’m kidding about their name?), and we enjoyed an unremarkable dinner at a local Indian restaurant before we parted ways to see the London theatre of our choice. My choice, based solely on the recommendation of my parents, was “War Horse”. That performance might be the highlight of the trip. http://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/warhorse  I opted to walk back from the New London Theatre to my hotel near Victoria Station, nearly a 30-40 minute walk, so I could take in the sights of Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey and the buildings along the Thames. My time in London was going to be limited to that night and a half-day on Thursday, so I wanted to make the most of it. My morning had started around 5am in Lillehammer, and I collapsed in bed around midnight London time, 1am in Lillehammer.

Art at the Tate. I know the feeling.

Thursday morning I met up with Auben and Rob, and we spent much of our late morning/early afternoon touring the Tate Modern. The first notable Language-Learning-Moment of the weekend was when I correctly determined that the woman sitting next to me at lunch was actually speaking Swedish, and not Norwegian. (I asked her, she verified). I was quite proud of myself. The fact that I’m putting it in this blog should drive that point home.

Anyway. . . Thursday afternoon we hopped on board a train bound for Bognor Regis, Sussex, (on the shores of the English Channel) where we took a short taxi ride to our lovely B&B in Felpham, and joined the out of town guests for a very tasty dinner at a seaside restaurant. We were quite an international crowd: there were the expected American and British contingencies, and myself unofficially from Norway, but also guests from Spain, Portugal, France and Italy.

Charming Sussex church

Friday was a bright, sunny day, although perhaps around 50 degrees F. Around 12:45, church bells began ringing through the village, beckoning us to make haste, and get ye to the church! My dear friend Catriona is a rather private person, so I won’t say much more than the bride looked amazing and the ceremony was a perfectly English experience. (Some Proper British women even wore Proper Hats!) We followed the wedding party to the seashore, where a group photo was taken of the 80+ guests with the English Channel behind us. 

On Saturday, I decided to take full advantage of my time in southern England, and hopped on a bus to Chichester, about 20 minutes inland. It had a bustling shopping district, with clothes stores far more tempting than what I’ve found in Norway. There’s also a large cathedral with lovely gardens surrounding it which were still appealing, even in late October.

Second Language-Learning-Moment of the Weekend:  Saturday evening the remaining crowd met up at a local pub for dinner. I had called home to wish Greta goodnight, and she asked what I was going to do. I told her, “I’m going to get something to eat. I’m going to a pub.” As any new-language learner might ask upon hearing an unfamiliar word, my two-year-old asked me: “What’s ‘pub’ in English, mamma?” Erik didn't miss a beat and responded, "You can't get more English than 'pub'!"

Charming bride and groom

Charmed wedding guests

And it is true. It was a great way to wrap up a great English weekend. Obviously, spending a weekend with good friends was a huge treat. It was so nice to reconnect and be with people with whom you share a past. It was such a treat to be able to travel and read menus, understand signs, feel confident about which direction I’m going on the Tube. . . . or not, as the case might be.  I found myself talking more to people just because I could, because I knew they could understand me. But it was a strange experience to hand my passport to the agents in Amsterdam and tell them, “I live in Norway.” And just 16 hours after I left Felpham, Sussex, England I was in my bed in Lillehammer. Just 16 hours.

Chichester on a busy Saturday at the shoppes

Chichester Cathedral

Auben on a chilly but sunny Saturday